


Five Star Service

by phqyd_roar



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Hook-Up, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Peter Parker is an awkward disaster, Pizza, because Peter lies about his age, plot literally borrowed from porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25572865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phqyd_roar/pseuds/phqyd_roar
Summary: Before he became a friendly neighborhood Spider-man, Peter is a pizza delivery boy trying to put some cash in that college fund. One night he delivers a pizza to Tony Stark, who, uh, decides he likes what’s on the menu.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 202





	Five Star Service

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify - this is set just before Peter gets superpowers. He's fourteen.

Peter yawns as he knocks on the door to Room 1201. It’s his last delivery this evening, the tips have been meh, and he’s about ready to go home, flop down on his twin bed, and sleep for a week. Except he still has calculus homework. Life is hard. 

Hopefully whoever’s staying at this fancy hotel will tip generously, at least - though, Peter’s come to find, it doesn’t always work out that way.

“Pizza delivery,” he calls out, knocking again. He belatedly notices a doorbell, so he presses that too.

The door opens with a mumbled curse. Peter’s mouth falls open.

“Omigod you’re Tony Stark,” he blurts out, then snaps his mouth shut and mentally takes a big hammer to his head.

Peter _hates_ himself. Of all the times he had ever imagined meeting his idol and celebrity crush, of all the suave first words he’d imagined he’d say to him, _that was not it_.

Tony Stark is wearing a rumpled t-shirt with the glow of the arc reactor seeping through and black boxers and little else, hair askew. He looks just like he does in the news, except more human, more approachable. 

He shoots Peter a finger gun and replies, “And you’re my pizza guy.” Then he peers at Peter under the cap and amends, “Pizza kid.”

“Pizza-man is my superhero name,” Peter says. Better, Parker, better. Room for improvement is still ample, though.

Mr Stark raises his eyebrows.

Peter snaps back into action, trying his best to be a functional human being and uh, pizza-man. 

“I’ve got your uh, large chicken fiesta with extra cheese, onion rings, and a coke?” He lifts his armful, which Mr Stark promptly takes over.

“That’s $24.99-” Peter starts to say, but is interrupted by Mr Stark handing him a hundred dollar bill. 

“Keep the change, kid.”

“Oh wow. Wow, thanks, Mr Stark.”

“Anytime,” he replies with an easy wink.

Then he starts to close the door and Peter absolutely _panics_. He’s never going to get another chance to speak to Tony Stark, so what the hell?

“Mr Stark?” Peter says, and Mr Stark looks at him. “Could, could you sign something for me? Maybe? I’m so sorry to bother you, I’m just such a big fan-”

“Sure,” says Mr Stark. He opens the door wider and puts the food on a nearby counter. “What do you want me to sign?”

Peter panics again and pulls off the stupid pizza delivery cap. “This?”

Mr Stark pauses to take a good look at Peter. Blushing intensely, Peter quickly runs his fingers through his hat-flattened hair. 

“Doesn’t that belong to the pizza place?” Mr Stark says at last, sounding lightly amused.

“Oh yeah,” Peter says sheepishly, _dying_. Mr Stark must think Peter’s an absolute idiot.

“Come on in,” he says, unexpectedly. “I got paper around here somewhere.”

Peter walks a couple of steps into Mr Stark’s hotel room, too tense at first to try to look around or anything. But then he catches a glance of gleaming red and gold and loses his damn mind again.

“Oh my _God_ ,” he breathes, walking right up to the armor to oogle it. Ned is going to go _ballistic_ when he hears about this. “Is that the Mark 47? Oh wow, you’ve updated the laser system!”

The eyes on the face plate light up as if to get a good look at Peter, and then it seems to decide Peter is not a threat, settling back as before.

“You really are a fan, huh?” Mr Stark walks up behind him with a slice of pizza in his hand. “How could you tell?”

Peter glances at him, too distracted by the shiny armor to freak out, and babbles happily about the tech. Mr Stark seems happy enough to talk to him and answer his questions, and Peter wishes desperately for a notebook or a _better brain_ to get it all down.

Peter’s voice stutters like a car crashing at 100mph when Mr Stark lays a hand on his shoulder.

Mr Stark moves the hand and says, “My bad.”

“No no no, touch me all you like,” Peter says, then winces.

Why can’t he _keep himself together_?

Mr Stark laughs and stares at Peter, then says, “You know, you’re a little obvious.”

“S-sorry,” Peter says.

“No, I mean…” Mr Stark makes a pointed gesture downward, and Peter only then looks down to see that the bulge of his erection is eminently noticeable and straining against his thigh.

He was so distracted he hadn’t even noticed. Fuck. Shit. Crap. Extra crap.

“Would I be right in guessing you want a little more than an autograph from me?” 

Peter looks up, shivering at that tone, and finds that Mr Stark has moved a lot closer, looking down at him in a way that says he isn’t too opposed to the idea.

“Maybe,” Peter says, throat too dry for the nonchalant tone he wanted.

“What’s your name?”

“Peter.”

“Peter,” repeats Mr Stark. “Like the rabbit.”

Peter, caught off guard, laughs at this. “Really? Most people go for Peter Pan.”

“Oh, I liked Peter Rabbit when I was a kid,” said Mr Stark, smiling. “Naughty little rabbit.”

Peter is the most confused mixture of amused and turned on at the way Mr Stark says that. 

“I liked it too,” Peter says, “Made my dad read it to me a thousand times, so I’m told.”

Mr Stark chuckles. “That tells me what I should write for you.”

He finds some complimentary notepaper on the table and scribbles, then hands the piece of paper to Peter smugly.

“To Peter: Don’t do anything I would do, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Peter reads.

“There’s a little grey area in there, and that’s where you operate,” Mr Stark clarifies.

Peter laughs. He has absolutely no idea what that means, but he kind of likes it anyway. He ought to take some time to think it though; this is first hand wisdom from his favorite superhero, after all.

“Thanks, Mr Stark,” Peter says. And then he has absolutely zero excuse to be here, imposing on Mr Stark in his hotel room with all the shiny stuff and the cool Iron Man armor. “Um. I guess I should go?”

“Feel free,” Mr Stark replies, but he doesn’t make any sort of move to usher Peter out. “Are your parents waiting for you to get home? How old did you say you were?”

“No, no it’s fine,” Peter says, glossing over the parent thing the way he usually does, because a boy can get tired of the second-hand awkwardness of people not knowing what to say about Peter not having parents. Then he straight up _lies_ , because no way is he passing this up. “I’m a big boy. I’m eighteen.”

There’s a pause where Mr Stark looks at Peter consideringly. “Not jailbait, then.”

“No,” Peter gets out somehow through all the blood rushing to his dick. Clearly, this does not go unnoticed as Mr Stark eyes him.

“In that case, feel free to keep me company a little longer, Peter.”

“Yeah. Okay!” Peter says, nerves getting the better of him again, because oh _holy shit_ is this happening.

Mr Stark appears to take pity on Peter’s crippling awkwardness and says, “Want a drink?” 

“Um, yeah.” 

Mr Stark points him towards the mini-bar with all the tiny little liquor bottles. “You ever been drunk, kiddo?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. I picked a fight with a traffic cone and lost.” Peter peered at a tiny bottle of vodka. “Do you want something, Mr Stark?”

“Tony. Go ahead and pour me a scotch.”

“Okay, Tony,” Peter says, his voice growing high as he tries to get used to being on first name terms with Tony Stark.

Peter sits on the sofa and hands Mr Stark his glass of scotch. Mr Stark sips and watches Peter fidget. Peter takes a big gulp of his vodka and winces.

“This isn’t like the pornos,” says Mr Stark. “I’m going to actually eat the pizza first.”

Peter laughs. “That’s good. I would lose respect for anyone who wastes good pizza.”

They talk easily, the conversation running smoother as Peter consumes more alcohol. The contents of the little bottle isn’t enough to make him drunk with his new metabolism, just makes him less tightly wound.

Peter’s jaw falls open as, after consuming the pizza, Mr Stark snaps his fingers and the Iron Man armor immediately comes over to _clear the damn table_. 

“You-” Peter gulps. “You programmed the Iron Man armor to do chores?”

Mr Stark shrugs. “They can’t just be good-for-nothing layabouts when there aren’t any threats to world security around.”

“You are everything I ever dreamt you to be,” Peter tells him.

Mr Stark smirks and lifts his glass to Peter.

“Uh,” Peter says. “You know, some people on the internet wonder if the armor has any uses in the bedroom.”

“Some people on the internet,” Mr Stark deadpans.

“And me.”

Mr Stark beckons the armor closer. The armor walks up to Peter and extends one gleaming metal gauntlet, crooks two fingers, which promptly begins to vibrate.

“Woah,” Peter says. Then he jumps a little as Mr Stark puts his hand on Peter’s thigh.

Peter smiles at him, hoping he doesn’t look manically nervous, and leans forward to meet him as Mr Stark slots their lips together. His brain buzzes like a swarm of angry bees. The next thing he knows, he’s halfway into Mr Stark’s lap, one hand curved around the back of his neck, the other groping his ass. Oh wow, he’s groping Iron Man’s ass.

“Do you know you said that out loud?”

Damn it. Well, in for a penny…

“You have a great ass,” Peter says.

Peter’s already hard from the kissing, so when Mr Stark strokes a hand up his thigh and cups Peter’s crotch, tracing the shape of it with his fingers, Peter can’t hold back a whimper. Mr Stark rubs Peter gently through his pants, and it already feels so good Peter’s balls tighten up.

“Is this okay, sweetheart?”

Peter nods jerkily. Mr Stark mouths at his ear, licking the shell of it, sending shivers down Peter’s spine.

“What do you want? Tell me.”

“Let me fuck you. Oh god, please sir, please let me fuck you.”

Mr Stark laughs. “You don’t have to beg.”

* * *

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so sorry,” Peter gasps, mortified, as he comes uncontrollably.

“I- I think I can just keep going.”

Mr Stark raises his eyebrows slightly, blinking back his arousal, “Sure is nice to be young.”

Peter’s stomach does a flip and he falters in his rhythm as the comment pulls his attention to exactly _how_ young he is. He’s vaguely aware that it’s a criminal offence for him to be sleeping with Mr Stark, but - _nobody would ever know, he’s certainly not going to tell, he’s never going to see Mr Stark this up close again, it’s the best night of his entire life and he’ll look back fondly on it until he’s sixty_ \- and Peter pushes the niggling guilt out of his head and concentrates on the moment. God, the beautiful, amazing, wonderful moment.

* * *

“I love you,” Peter says, muffled against Mr Stark’s neck. 

“Peter. Sweetheart, you don’t mean that.”

“I do. I’m sorry I said it like that, but I really do, Mr Stark.”

“That’s just hero worship. I’m way too old for you, kid.”

“You’re _not_ old, sir. You’re Iron Man.”

“Peter, come on. This isn’t a thing, okay? You and me? I’m glad to initiate you to the world of adults, and I’m flattered you like me. But this isn’t a, a romance. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter says, subdued.

“Oh, Peter.” Mr Stark pulls Peter into a hug and Peter clings to him, getting high off Mr Stark’s scent. 

Peter’s feelings are so jumbled and clouded with hormones that tears prickle his eyes. Absolutely mortified, he sneakily smears the moisture against Mr Stark’s sheets and sit up.

“I, uh, I should probably get going.”

Lounging against the numerous pillows in nothing but a rumpled t-shirt, Mr Stark gives Peter a level stare.

“Sure, of course. Well, I hope you had a good time. Love the enthusiasm. If you like I can call you a ride.”

“Oh no, no that’s alright. Thanks. I had an amazing time. Great to, uh, meet you.”

Peter fumbles for his clothes and puts them back on, going faster as the post-nut clarity makes him feel ever more awkward (what the hell did he just say to Mr Stark?!). Finally, he smashes the pizza delivery hat back on top of his sex-mussed hair and gives Mr Stark a lop-sided grin.

“Great service. Five stars,” Mr Stark deadpans.

Peter laughs and gets the hell out of there before his rational mind can catch up with this crazy night.

* * *

-Several months later- 

_Record scratch. Freeze frame._

“Quick question of the rhetorical variety: that’s you, right?” 


End file.
